


where we're from, there's no sun

by shesaysbriefthings



Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars Episode VII: The Force Awakens (2015)
Genre: Animal Death, Come Eating, Demon Kylo, Explicit Sexual Content, M/M, Priest Hux, Rimming, Some Plot, some gore, some violence
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-04-05
Updated: 2016-04-05
Packaged: 2018-05-31 12:43:26
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 17,543
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6470404
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/shesaysbriefthings/pseuds/shesaysbriefthings
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>River Ranch, Louisiana, at the turn of the century is a quiet agricultural town with hard-working, God-fearing folk and none of that lawlessness you hear about out west. The town exists peacefully under the watchful eye of the imposing Pastor Hux, and his preacher son, Bren.</p>
<p>Life moves pretty slowly in River Ranch. That is, until a spate of brutal animal killings leave the town shaken, and the arrival of a dark, quiet, hermit-like blacksmith named Ben leaves Bren Hux reconsidering most of what he’s learned about life in his short 20 years. </p>
<p>Priest!Hux/Demon!Kylo.</p>
            </blockquote>





	where we're from, there's no sun

**Author's Note:**

> Firstly, warnings: Sex between a priest and a demon. If this doesn’t float your boat for whatever reason, well, it’s there. Please read safe. Some violence towards animals, again, if that’s not good for you, please don’t read. 
> 
> Secondly. It would obviously be **very** remiss of me to post this fic without acknowledging the somewhat massive debt it owes the fantastic [Southern Comfort](http://archiveofourown.org/works/5777599?view_full_work=true) by octorok, and [The Hanged Man](http://archiveofourown.org/works/6318187) by that-vicious-vixen (the finest purveyors of SoGo in the business), not to mention, of course, reserve’s brilliant witch!au and blood meridian!au. Please read all of these first.  
>  This is their sandbox. I’m just sticking my incompetent fingers inside it. 
> 
> Finally, please bear with if you can on the details, the British education system has left me with precisely zero knowledge, of this, or indeed any, period of US history, and my only qualification to write anything SoGo-esque is having seen three seasons of True Blood. So. Fair warning.

\------------------------------------

It is a Tuesday when they find the first one. 

Always a slow day in the parish, the news is brought to Bren Hux at the rectory. It is a hot, muggy July morning, and Hux has preferred to spend the hours in his father’s study, the elder Hux working at the church that day. 

Hux wipes his brow and finishes the letter he is writing, seals it up and nods. Not a bad morning’s work, he thinks, as he surveys the pile of paperwork and empty inkwell. 

He has always been better at organising than inspiring, and he is (nearly) at peace with that. The town will lose an emotive and rousing preacher, as well as a stern disciplinarian, when Pastor Brendol Hux I passes on, and his son takes his place. Bren hopes this will not be for at least a few years yet. 

He begins to think about lunch. He knows the greengrocer (a tall, pretty widow named Phasma, and a close friend of Hux’s) has some fresh tomatoes in, and he is just contemplating strolling over when he hears a knock. 

It is Deputy Mitaka. 

“Early for a call.” Says Hux. “Hope everything’s all right?” 

The deputy, a young man of a somewhat nervy disposition, fresh from the bustling streets and relative anonymity found in New Orleans and only having lived in Hux’s tiny town three months, shakes his head. 

“Sheriff had old Missus Lamb in this morning. Dead dog.”

Hux is bewildered. “Mrs Lamb’s dog died? Wouldn’t have thought that a matter for the Sheriff.”

“Normally it ain’t. Creature had its throat ripped clean from it, though. Nasty surprise for Ma Lamb. For me, too, now that I mention it. We don’t know what’s done it, is the thing.”

Hux thinks. He doesn’t know, either. 

“Coyote, we were thinking, maybe.”

Hux shakes his head. “Not around here. No wolves, neither. Hyena, possibly.”

“Well, whatever it was that did it, it’s dangerous.”

Hux shakes his head. “Maybe. How can I help you, Deputy?”

“The Sheriff, myself and a couple of folks from the town are taking our horses and a sawn-off each out. Whatever killed that dog, we’ll find it by sundown, I reckon. Can’t have any livestock taken out.”

Hux nods. The deputy is right. River Ranch is not a major farming town, but the loss of any horses would be a problem. The railroad has not quite reached them here, not yet. 

“So you want me to join you? Surely my father’s told you what kind of a shot I am.” Hux has never been proud of his lack of ability with a gun in his hands, and for all that his calling encourages him to be a peaceable man, nor, he suspects, has his father. 

“He has.” Deputy Mitaka smiles. “We were hoping you’d keep an eye on lock up for an hour or two. Sheriff Tarkin’ll come back by the afternoon to relieve you.” 

Hux considers it for a minute, and relents. The sooner anything that’s going around killing dogs is put down, the better, he supposes. 

He grabs a small bread roll from the pantry and a sheaf of papers to keep him occupied. He’s preaching at evening service tonight, and he needs to make some notes. He mentally reminds himself to check in with Phasma anyway, when he’s done. He’s not seen her in a while. 

\-----------------------------------------------------

The walk to the Sheriff’s is not far, but Hux still regrets coming out hatless. The midday July sun is merciless in River Ranch, and the station is a good fifteen minutes’ walk from the rectory, which sits, alone, a little way out from the main town streets, close to the bank of the river. Hux often feels isolated, there, from the rest of the parish, alone in the imposing house, too large for only two people. Bren’s mother died when he was twelve, and Pastor Hux had shown no disposition to re-marry either then or at any time after. 

Deputy Mitaka gives him the keys to the station house gratefully, pulls up onto his horse, an impressive black mare, and joins the rest of the search party, leaving Hux quite alone. 

The Sheriff’s office adjoins his house. Though small, it’s adequate to serve a town their size, and they only have three cells. Only one is currently occupied, a rough-hewn gentleman in his late forties, and by the look of him sleeping off a drunken brawl from the previous night. 

Hux settles into his sermon. 

The afternoon passes quickly, and before he knows it Sheriff Tarkin returns, a slight red tinge to his otherwise pale, lined face. He nods solemnly to Hux, hangs up his jacket and hat, and lays his shotgun on the table in front of Hux, who goes to gather his things.

Hux has always liked and admired Tarkin. The man is, like him, not from River Ranch (and with Tarkin, you can tell immediately by lack of the soft, easy Louisiana drawl). It is a testament, Hux thinks, to the man’s ability and judgment that the people of River Ranch took to him so quick. They’re a friendly people on the whole but, like most of the rural towns in the county, inherently suspicious of outsiders. Although severe and a trifle disdainful at times, Tarkin is an unusually measured and calm man, Hux has never seen him out of temper or with a raised voice. 

“How’s the day been, young man? Mr Locke here hasn’t been giving you any trouble, I hope?”

Hux gives him a small smile. “Been asleep all the afternoon, Sheriff. Not even stirred.”

“Well, let’s hope the poor fellow hasn’t died. Found him slumped outside Joe’s last night. Tried to start some trouble with Annie behind the bar. His friends took him up quick, though, threw him out before it got ugly.”

“And what of your afternoon, if I can ask? Did you catch the hyena?”

The Sheriff gives a minute pause, and then shakes his head. “We did not.”

Hux is surprised. “Must have moved on to Gold Creek or somewhere. Maybe it died, too.”

“I hope so, son.” 

Hux rightly takes the words as a dismissal and picks up his satchel. He can still catch Jane, it is only three o’clock. 

\--------------------------------------------

Hux exhales deeply as he makes the short walk from the Sheriff’s to Phasma’s store. He is feeling nearly lightheaded with the heat, almost more so than the actual temperature would warrant. He is probably a little dehydrated, that’s all it’ll be. 

Jane Phasma and he have been firm friends since he arrived in River Ranch with his father and mother nine years previously, at the age of eleven. She is older than him by close to three years, but it hasn’t mattered. He likes her calm, peaceful friendliness and pragmatism, a good foil for his frequent anxiety and doubt. He is an over thinker at best, and she keeps him down-to-earth, as far as she can. 

She is probably his only friend in River Ranch, unless you count Mitaka. Her husband, Ray, passed away two years ago, and while Hux admires the way she has continued and built on his little store on her own, Hux knows that she is lonely, too - she, unlike old Pastor Hux, is not built for solitude.

A flash of black appears out of the corner of Hux’s eye, and disappears just as fast. He glances into the little alleyway by the side of the butcher’s shop, but can see nothing there. His imagination playing him up, no doubt. And yet he’s never before been accused of being a man of a wide imagination. 

“Afternoon, Phas.” he greets, setting his stuff down and sidling over to the counter.

“Bren.” she nods. “I thought you said you’d come in, I put these aside for you.” She passes him the firm, bright red tomatoes, and Hux nods at her gratefully. 

“How’s business?”

“Booming, Mr Hux, although I understand why you’d hardly know. Have I seen hide or hair of you in the last fortnight?”

“I’m sorry. It’s been a little hectic at church. I promise I’ll be around more next week. You coming by tonight for evening service? I’ve got a lovely sermon prepared.” He grins, in the way he only feels comfortable doing around Phasma. 

“By lovely I’m guessing you mean full of hell-fire and brimstone, as usual.”

“Following in my father’s footsteps, Phas. I could do worse.”

Phasma frowns. “You could do a lot better, too.”

“Well, never mind that. You hear about Mrs Lamb’s dog?”

“Yeah, sad. I hope she’s OK, she’s all alone without that hound to keep her company. At least I’ve still got BeeBee.”

Bee is Phasma’s shepherd dog, a shaggy, bounding enthusiastic creature. Sammy Finn, the butcher had had a litter born in his house just after Phasma was widowed, and she’d decided to take the puppy in. 

“They think it might have been a hyena that killed it.”

“I heard she was attacked by a wild animal, yeah. Seems unlikely for this neck of the woods, I must say.”

“What I thought, too. And I’ll swear the Sheriff thinks the same, he’s worried.”

“Well, it’s catching, then. You’re always worried, you know.” 

“Am not.”

“Are too. Did you hear Mrs Walker’s house got taken at last?” Asks Phasma, moving to start re-stocking shelves for the end of the day.

Hux shakes his head. Mrs Walker was one of the oldest residents of River Ranch, well over seventy, and a constant in Hux’s community, and the life of the parish, before she’d passed on two months ago. To Hux’s knowledge, she had no relatives yet living, so he supposes the house (a small, creaking little house painted, most unusually, in royal blue, which sat on a corner off Main Street) had been sold. Phasma shakes her head, though. 

“There’s a great-nephew once removed, or something like that. They got in touch with him at last, they must have traced him through Palpatine.” Richard Palpatine is the town’s only lawyer, and he rides out to their neighbouring, much larger town of Gold Creek every day for work. He is an elderly, reptilian man with a reputation for cruelty and underhand dealings. He has passed both of these traits to his wayward, drunkard son, Edward, far less intelligent and no less dangerous for it.

“You’ve met him?”

“No, I don’t think he’s here yet. He’s from East Texas, I think.”

Hux whistles. “Long ride, that.”

“No doubt.” Nods Phasma. “Look, I’m shutting up shop. I’ll see you this evening.”

Hux gathers his purchases and waves her goodbye. 

\--------------------------------------------------

It’s still light when St. John’s lets out, sun low in the sky and the background noise of crickets starting to chirp coming in from the marshy land to the west of town, still time enough for the older men to meet in the town’s only bar for a whisky, for the younger ones to play by the river. For Hux, it’s late enough. He’s exhausted after preaching an evening service, always is. 

He packs away in the tiny vestry at the back end of the church, his father long gone for the day. He is feeling - odd. He hopes very much he’s not getting sick. That’s the last thing he needs. He shakes his head, he is just run down, more than likely. Overheated. 

The feeling, somehow, becomes more acute as he steps outside to lock up, a tingling sensation in his arms and legs. His arm hairs stand on end, but he is not cold. He feels like he is running a fever. And - he feels like he is being watched. Though he shakes head in annoyance with himself for doing so, he surreptitiously scans the west front of the church, scans his eyes over to the graveyard, where, of course, there is nobody - except - 

Oh. Hux jumps, grips the heavy brass door handle. There _is_ someone, a hunched dark figure by the far graves, Hux cannot see him clearly but -  
\- he pulls the heavy cast iron doorkey from the lock and stuffs it in his satchel as fast as he can, quickly turns back to the graveyard. If there is someone lurking, he will have it out with them. He’s not afraid. 

But the man is gone. 

Hux grumbles to himself as he carefully undresses for bed later that evening, safely back in his small, draughty, but mostly comfortable bedroom at the rectory. Fantastic. He’s going mad. Hux shudders to think what his father would say if he knew Hux had started hallucinating. Something about the devil, Hux imagines. As a deacon of the Convention of the Southern Baptists, Hux supposes he ought to make peace with idea of the devil. Still, believing that malevolent forces in various guises could possibly be running about on the earth, in River Ranch no less, has never come as easily to Hux as it has his father. 

He settles himself into bed, but he himself remains unsettled. He tries to shake it off, but something is wrong. As the weariness begins to overtake his eyes and he finally starts to relax into the welcome oblivion of sleep, he realises with a jolt that it is the perfect silence that surrounds him which is so disturbing to his subconscious mind. Normally, being so close to the muggy marshland surrounding the rectory, he is never free from the noise of the crickets and cicadas calling, especially at this time of year. It is comforting in a way he hadn’t realised before. 

He tries to reason with himself. Tries to persuade himself to relax in the face of the consummate silence before him, that his fear will feel unbelievably foolish come the warm light of morning. It is nearly working, until Hux hears a distinct splash penetrate the quiet dark. 

Someone in the river. The thought comes to Hux in a flash, though he waves it away again almost as quickly as it arrives. Before he knows it, though, he has thrown off his covers and re-lit his oil lamp. He peers out behind his moth-eaten curtains but sees nothing. 

He’s downstairs at the back porch in a minute, opening the door as quietly as he can. He can be at the river in two minutes if he moves fast. He can, and he’s yet to move from his position on the top step. He’s paralyzed, whether with fear or anything else he doesn’t know. But his feet won’t step one in front of the other, and he stands there in the dark silence, the glow from his oil lamp illuminating the back porch steps, their cracked, white-painted wood, and the surrounding trees and lichens. 

He breathes slowly, quietly. Bows his head. Whatever madness had overtaken him then, he is past it now. He’s not going to explore the river bank in the middle of the night.

He steps back inside, heart still beating at a rate of knots, and closes and re-locks the back door. Chides himself for being so foolish, and goes back to bed. He keeps his lamp lit, takes up a book from the shelf, and reads until he can no longer keep his eyes open. 

\-----------------------------------------------------

The next morning he wakes late, his oil lamp still flickering, but barely, on the end table, his book fallen to the floor. 

He pulls the covers off in disgust, dresses, and pours himself a hot tea. It’s nearly ten by the time he is ready to go to church. This morning, he takes the children and young teenagers of River Ranch for scripture. It is a nervous proceeding, a weekly task that always leaves him unsettled and on edge. Still, it is a nice break for the schoolteacher, Miss Kanata.

By the time he has finished, the children bounded off back to the classroom, Hux is hot and very much in need of some lunch and maybe a cool glass of beer. He nearly considers going into the tavern for lunch, something he never does, but thinks better of it. What he needs is a tall drink of water and a lie down.

He locks up, and glances out into the graveyard. 

This time, in the harsh light of day, there’s no mistaking the hunched figure at the gravestone, nothing but a big black shape to Hux. He allows himself no time for indecision and moves.

It is a man Hux has never seen before. Which, in a town Hux has lived in for nine years, with a population of under 200, is somewhat unusual. 

The man is hunched over, on his knees at a grave, but Hux can see that he is taller, taller perhaps than Hux, even. He is pale, like Hux, another sign, if wanted one, that the man was not a local. He is dressed in an ill-conceived outfit of all black, and has messy, matted black hair nearly to his shoulders. 

Hux stops in his tracks. Stranger or no, the man is at a grave. He is mourning someone lost, Hux shouldn’t disturb him. And yet he doesn’t move away, either. He was too slow to talk to the man last night, and he feels, for some reason, like he might not get another chance. 

“You can come on over. I don’t mind.” Says a low, rough voice. It is sudden enough to make Hux jump a little. 

The man turns to face him, and - oh. He is younger than Hux had thought, younger than his gravelly voice makes him sound. His face is long, pale, dotted with freckles and beauty marks. Perhaps the most immediately noticeable thing about him is the long pale scar traversing his face from the corner of his eye to chin, but what Hux notices (cursing himself for it) are the stranger’s eyes. They are a curious colour, dark and deep, but with flecks of honey, glimmering practically gold in the sunlight. His mouth is wide, his lips full and turned ever so slightly down. 

Hux steps cautiously towards him. 

“I apologise for interrupting you. I didn’t mean to disturb you while you’re grieving.” Says Hux quietly. 

“No apologies needed, padre.” Says the stranger, smiling slightly. “Not grieving, not really. This is my grandfather.” 

He nods towards the grave, a small headstone nearly covered now in moss and wildflowers. _Andrew Walker. 1812 - 1875. Beloved husband and father._

“He died years before I was even born.” Continues the stranger. “But I do wish I could have met him. He and his brother lived here their whole lives. But my grandmother moved out west when he died, back to her parents.”

“And you’ve never been here before.” Hux finishes acutely. 

The man nods. “I came to town last week. Inherited a little place.”

Comprehension dawns on Hux. “You’re Mrs Walker’s great-nephew, aren’t you? The blue house, we call it.”

“She’s - she was - my great-aunt by marriage. Grandpa’s brother’s wife. Hadn’t ever met her, neither, but I’m the only one left of the family, so the place came to me.”

Hux’s curiosity begins to grow. “So you upped and left, to come here? There’s not much to this place, I‘d best warn you.”

“Wasn’t much to Beaumont, either. Besides, it’s getting rough over there. I got no interest in oil. Besides, I like it here.”

Hux smiles. Explains the slight Texan drawl, at least. He has always felt an incongruous sort of pride about his town. He watches over River Ranch, in a way, he and his father. He knows it’s small and behind the times, but he likes it, too. 

“What do you do for a living, then - I” Hux pauses. “I’m sorry, I don’t know your name.”

The stranger smiles too, then, a wan, lilting smile that catches Hux off-guard. It’s a smile that makes Hux’s cheeks flush hot.

“It’s Ben. Ben Walker.”

“Pleasure to meet you, Ben Walker. Brendan Hux. You can call me Bren, if you like.”

That smile again. “Bren.”

“So, then?”

“I’m a blacksmith.”

“Ah.”

“Yeah. I already been round the local smithy askin’ for work, but there is none.”

“There won’t be. There isn’t enough business to justify a second. Can you get by without work?”

“Probably. I shouldn’t like to be idle, though, I ain’t used to it.” Says Ben. 

Hux considers for a second, and an idea comes to him. “You could help at Jane’s store.”

“Jane?”

“Jane Phasma. Her’s is the greengrocer’s on Main. She couldn’t afford to pay much, but she could use the help. And the company, I know that much.”

Ben thinks about it, and nods. “I guess I could ask her.” He seems slightly wary, but Hux puts it down to nervousness. Understandable. 

Something does occur to him, though. “You’ve been in town a week, you said?”

“Yeah.”

“I’ve not seen you in church?”

Ben eyes fall to the ground. “No. And you won’t.”

Hux is surprised. Still, Ben is not local. It may be that he’s Catholic. Many of River Ranch’s neighbouring towns have Catholic churches. 

He enquires about this, but Ben shakes his head. “I’m sorry, reverend. I just can’t. I can’t explain it properly.”

Hux doesn’t push it, though he knows his father would be disappointed in him. Church attendance is practically compulsory in their town, and having a member of the community abstaining will anger him. 

“It’s OK, Ben. You don’t have to.”

Ben does not reply, but nods gratefully.

“I’m not a reverend, by the way. My father is the pastor, I just help him out. I am a preacher but my father’s the head of the church in River Ranch.”

Hux would like to talk to Ben for longer, but he is starting to look restless and Hux senses it may be time to leave him alone. He does not know him, after all. What would a stranger, new to the town, want to be accosted by the local preacher for, anyway? Hux thinks to himself. 

Hux draws himself up. “Well, thank you for talking to me, anyhow, Ben. I take it it was you I saw here last night?”

Ben seems to redden a little, but it is probably Hux’s imagination. Ben nods. “I came by to see grandpa. Thought everyone had left.”

Hux smiles a little sadly. “You can come by anytime you like. And - if you change your mind, well. We’re always here.”

Ben nods stiffly, and Hux beats a hasty retreat before he says anything else he regrets. 

\--------------------------------------------

It is what Hux would describe as a great schemozzle at the rectory. Thanisson, the butcher’s boy, and Mitaka are chatting anxiously on the porch, and Sam Finn is with Poe Dameron, the barman, Tarkin, and Pastor Hux in the rectory study. 

“Ah, young man.” Nods Tarkin when he sees Bren. “You’ll not have heard.”

“Heard what?”

“They found another one.” Says Mitaka, coming in with Thanisson at his heel.

“Another dead dog?” 

Pastor Hux shakes his head, looking grim and resolute, his colour up. “Was Mr Finn’s horse, Moll.”

Hux inhales sharply. “Surely no hyena could take down a full grown mare?”

“We think it might been a wolverine, maybe. It’s too hard to tell just what was done to the beast. Its chest is open, though.”

Sammy Finn looks close to tears. He’s led out by Dameron, leaving the rest of them in the study to exchange meaning looks.

“Where’d you find her?” He asks slowly.

“River. Looks like she staggered past and fell in the night. Though what she’d be doing by the river I do not know.”

Hux’s stomach drops. He hadn’t imagined the splash he heard, after all, then. He feels bile rising to his oesophagus. Had he been foolish enough to leave to investigate last night, he might have encountered, alone and unarmed, a full grown wolverine. He really had been strangely idiotic, last night, now that he thinks about it properly.

He leaves the men in the study to discuss it. 

He wanders out towards the banks of the river, the crickets increasing in volume as he does so. This part of the river is a mossy, deep green under normal circumstances, surrounding by overhanging trees, thick buttress roots submerged. It is a comparatively small river, practically a brook. The boys like to play out here in the summer, the older men fish. One can take a small 2-man river raft out, but she’s nowhere near wide enough to accommodate a steamer, or anything of that sort. 

Hux bites back a vile, sick feeling as he kneels by Moll, the shiny black coat of the beautiful mare marred by the congealed thickness of red blood. The river, whose current is not strong on the best of days, has failed to wash any of it away, and the green river is tainted an ugly brown, now. 

Hux can see a large, festering wound on the throat, same thing as before. But the chest is indeed open, the wound clearly made by something with strong claws. The ribs are ripped away entirely, leaving the chest a gaping cavity. It is hard to see from where Hux is, and he is about as far from an expert as one can get, but it looks surprisingly - empty? 

\-------------------------------------------

“I think the wolverine _ate_ its heart, Phasma.” 

 

It is two days later, and Hux has not shared his gruesome discovery with anyone yet. Except Phasma, of course, with whom he shares nearly everything. 

Phasma has just finished serving a customer, waiting for him to leave before turning back to Hux.

“That's pretty horrible.” she says slowly. “Could be a rabid dog, maybe.”

Hux shrugs. “I don't know. I'm worried, though.”

“Because your father is?”

“That's not it. I just don't want Millie to be the next.”

Millicent is Hux’s horse. Strictly speaking, she belongs to his father, but Pastor Hux so seldom leaves River Ranch, preferring to let Bren soldier through the uncomfortable Louisiana heat if one of them is needed in a neighbouring town. 

“I shouldn’t worry. It should be a simple hunting job.”

Hux says nothing. 

“By the way, I ran into the new occupant of the blue house yesterday.”

Hux raises his eyebrows. He hasn’t forgotten about his encounter with Ben two days previously. Could scarcely put it out of his mind, not that he's about tell this to Phasma. 

“Yeah? He came by after all, then?”

Phasma frowns. “He did not. I caught him out front on my way home last night. Said who was he and what's he doing hanging round my store front at closing time. He told me then that he took the blue house.”

Hux nods. “He's Mrs Walker’s great-nephew.”

“Didn't see him at the funeral. You'd think you'd remember a fellow like that, too. “ says Phasma. 

Hux is silent, but could not agree more. 

“Anyway. I let him be on his way. Doesn’t do to scare new business away. Doesn't say much, does he?”

Hux shrugs again. Ben had been loquacious enough with him. But he hardly blames him. Phasma is a very pretty, very intimidating woman. 

“He was going to ask you for work.”

Phasma raises an eyebrow. “Was he now? How bold of him.”

“I told him to.” Says Hux, aware he is blushing a little. “He’s a smith by trade. I just didn’t want him to get bored here.”

“Well, he didn't ask, in any case.”

Hux frowns. “I guess he changed his mind, then.”

“Maybe so.”

Phasma pushes her pale blonde hair out of her eyes as she reaches for something on the top shelf, and Hux thinks, not for the first time, what a shame it is that she's never remarried. 

A couple of local shopkeepers had asked Hux, after Phasma’s year of mourning was up, why he hadn't married her himself. 

Hux had been resentful primarily on Phasma’s behalf, not his own. Her first husband, Ray, an adventurous and courageous US marshal singularly unsuited to life in a place like River Ranch, had balanced Phasma’s pragmatism and dry wit with his own relentless optimism and a generosity of spirit that belied his profession. 

A greater contrast to Hux could hardly have been imagined. 

Hux’s own father has never, in Hux’s memory (and to his great relief), evinced any interest whatsoever in his son's romantic aspirations. It is fairly well known that Pastor Hux believes a clergyman should never marry. He had been a military man when he had met and married Hux’s mother, only finding the church later in life. Hux sometimes wonders if he regrets marrying and having a child. 

Still, one of the main benefits, as far as Hux is concerned, of the clergy is that he very rarely has to explain away his complete lack of interest in marrying a woman. 

He leaves Phasma’s with the same burgeoning restlessness he's been feeling for days. He's got to get home, his father will he waiting for him to make lunch. He knows that leaving him waiting is a bad idea, but his feet are taking him, unbidden, off main street and to the blue house. 

Well, checking on parishioners is part of his job, he reasons. 

He knocks at the door twice, waits a minute. Just as he accepts that Ben is out, or more probably ignoring him, and turns away, the solid oak door unlatches and opens before him. 

Ben is in black again, a loose shirt unbuttoned nearly to the sternum and a pair of pants clearly too short for him. His hair is a mess, and he looks tired and drawn. Hux swallows, involuntarily. 

“Oh. It’s you. Not-reverend Hux.” Ben grumbles. 

Hux smiles, trying to conceal his nervousness. “Who did you think it was?”

“Your father, maybe.”

Hux is surprised. “My father?”

“He came by yesterday.”

“Whatever for?”

Ben pauses. “Why don’t you come in?”

Hux considers it briefly, but sees no reason to refuse. He takes a seat at Ben’s kitchen table, is offered an ale. 

“I don’t drink alcohol. A water’d be good, though.”

Ben nods, sits opposite Hux. “Your father, the good pastor, came by to tend to his flock.”

Hux is silent. 

“He welcomed me to the town, said he hoped I’d be made to feel at home. He’s very much looking forward to seeing me in church on Sunday morning.”

The Sunday service is the most important of the week. The town is normally present in full force, the elderly ladies exchanging the week’s gossip, the men, women and children in their cleanest and smartest clothes. Any absence is noticeable, and commented upon. 

“You don’t need to be there if you’re not comfortable.” Hux says, much to his own surprise. Evangelising to recalcitrant townspeople is something he’s been trained for since he was old enough to ride Millie. “I can tell my father you’re Catholic. Just make yourself scarce.”

“You don’t have to lie for me, Mr Hux.”

Hux smiles, a tinge sadly. “I did say you could call me Bren, if you wanted. Mr Hux makes me feel about a hundred. My apologies if I’ve been too familiar with you.”

Ben shakes his head. “Why did you come here, Bren?”

“It’s my job.” Says Hux a little stiffly. “You’re new in town, and I thought maybe you’d like someone to talk to.” He stands. “If that’s not the case, I’m terribly sorry for intruding on your morning.”

He is halfway out of the kitchen door before Ben stops him. 

“Wait.” 

Hux pauses. 

“Stay. I’m sorry if I was short with you. I’m not used to visitors, you know?”

Hux nods. “It’s not a problem, Ben. I was thinking, if you like, I could show you ‘round the town?”

Ben shrugs. “I been lookin’ myself. I ran into your friend when I was exploring.”

“I know. She told me. You didn’t want to ask for a job?”

Ben looks to the ground. “Don’t know.” 

“Don’t worry about it, Ben. So you already know your way around?”

“The town, yeah. Haven’t been out towards the river, though.” Ben’s cheeks turn pink, he stands awkwardly at the door jamb with his arms across himself. When he looks up at Hux his expression is oddly hopeful. 

Hux smiles, he cannot help himself. “Do you want to walk down there? I can show you the sights, such as they are. The rectory’s that way.” 

Ben grins back. “Yeah. Let’s do that.”

They cut through the back streets to take them out of town, making the most of the hot afternoon. At least, Ben is. Hux starts to feel the heat quickly, always has, a trait inherited from his Irish forebears, he expects. They stop by the butcher’s shop on their way to call in on Dameron and Sam Finn. Ben is quiet, but Hux is learning to expect it.

They walk together along the bank of the river in comfortable silence for the most part, Hux occasionally interjecting a question or comment. Ben’s answers are brief, at best, but at least he does answer. That’s enough for Hux for now.  
Hux stops at a tall tree in full blossom. He gestures to the little path that leads from it, closer to the bank of the river. Green trees and long vines closely overhang the path, and they can no longer walk two abreast. At the end there is a small clearing, a tiny wooden pier, now mossy with disuse, extending a few feet into the shallow, green river. 

“I used to come here all the time.” Says Hux. “Still do when I can get some time to myself.”

Ben blinks. “It’s nice.”

“You don’t have to say that, you know.” Laughs Hux. 

“But it is. It’s peaceful.” 

“Well. It is that. Nobody fishes in this part of the river. Too much algae.”

Hux sits at the end of the pier, takes his shoes off and dips his toes in.

Ben grins as he sits beside Hux and follows suit. “You’ll get a fever doin’ that. Can’t be very hygienic.”

Hux shrugs. “Never got anything before now. It feels nice in this heat, you know.”

“Yeah.” says Ben, simply. 

Hux looks at him. “Were you on your own in Beaumont?”

“Yeah.”

“No wife?”

“No wife. I never married. I’m only twenty-three, you know.” Ben teases. “What about you, Mr Clergyman? Never been tempted to renounce your vows of celibacy?”

Hux laughs. “No vows of celibacy. But no. And besides, I’m only twenty! What about your parents, then?”

Ben stiffens slightly, bowing his head. “Dead.”

“Oh. I’m sorry.” 

“Well. Dad might be alive. He left a long while ago, my mother raised me on her own. She died three years ago.” 

“I am sorry to hear that, Ben.”

“S’all right. She’s with grandmother and grandfather, I suppose. It just - it shook me. It’s why I don’t go to church, really.” 

Hux looks at him, interested. “You lost your faith.”

“It’s not so much that. It’s just hard. We went together every week. She was devout. Me, not so much. I get reminded of her when I look at a church. Every time. That’s why I don’t go in.” 

Hux is silent. Ben must know how devout a town he has moved to. Given how little he seems normally prepared to give away, Hux is not sure how to feel about the fact that he has shared this with Hux, especially given Hux’s position. 

Hux gently rests his hand on Ben’s shoulder. He is not sure how Ben will respond to physical contact but he does not push Hux away, at least. “Like I said, Ben. I know we don’t know each other well, yet. But I’m here to talk, if you want me.” 

Ben swallows and nods, carefully avoiding Hux’s gaze. 

Hux avoids the subject of Ben’s parents for the rest of the afternoon, which passes in a much more relaxed fashion. They talk a little, about Hux’s job, about Phasma, briefly about the death of Sam’s horse. But mostly they sit quietly, listening to the bees, crickets and gentle ebb and flow of the river. Hux’s heart leaps in his chest, unbidden, when his bare foot accidentally brushes against Ben’s beneath the water, but thankfully Ben does not seem to notice his discomfiture. 

Hux only realises the time when he hears the church bell ring three o’clock. He gasps, stands up, lightly splashing himself and Ben with water. 

“Ben, I’m sorry. I have to go, I didn’t realise, oh, my father’s probably been waiting for me for hours, I forgot all about it, and now - ”

“Hey,” says Ben, lightly rubbing his shoulder. “It’s all right. I’m sorry to have kept you. Your father will understand, won’t he?”

Hux doubted that very much, but he said nothing. 

“Can I walk you back?” 

“No. I mean, I’m sorry, Ben. I can’t explain.”

Ben nods. “Okay.”

“I’m sorry.” Says Hux again. “Can you find your way back from here?”

Ben nods. “Sure thing.”

“Can I call on you again tomorrow?” Hux tries very hard to keep the desperation out of his voice. He is not entirely sure that he succeeds.

“Yeah, if you like.” Ben gives him that same small smile, the one that catches Hux. “See you around, Bren.” 

\-------------------------------------------------------

“Are you gonna tell me what you were doing today?” Pastor Hux’s tone is even, but brooks no argument. 

“I had a matter to attend to in the town, father. I’m sorry I’m so late.”

“And what matter might that be?”

“A parishioner.” 

“Yes. Benjamin Walker.”

Hux does not ask how his father knows; questioning him is a fruitless exercise.

“That’s right.”

“I ran into young Thanisson. He said he saw the two of you walking out towards the river.”

“Yes, father. I believe that he, of all the townsfolk, needs the most guidance. His family are Catholic, but I think it possible that he can be persuaded to convert.” 

“Alice Walker wasn’t no Catholic.”

“His father’s side.”

Silence. 

“If it please you, father, I’d like to call on him oftener. I do truly think he can be saved. He just needs a friend he can talk to, at first. I’ll get him to church, I promise you.”

Pastor Hux grunts. He doesn’t like it, Hux can tell, but he seems to relent. “Well. See that you don’t neglect your Scripture, in any case. You’re givin’ service Tuesday.”

“Yes, father.” 

Hux seizes a chance of escape.

He can only breathe again once outside in the small stable by the rectory. He strokes Millie’s fine brown mane, brushes her tail, gives her water. 

“Good girl.” He smiles, patting her. “Shall we go out later, eh, girl?”

Hux hasn’t ridden Millie in days. It saddens him to see her stuck in her little stable, but he and his father, although practically first citizens of the town, cannot afford anything bigger. The maintenance on the rectory is enormous. 

He manages to finish his scripture study and even starts to prepare for his next classes, but his mind is decidedly not on the task at hand. He tries to focus himself, he prays, he tries to read passages from his Bible, but he realises he has been staring that the same sentence for five minutes. His mind keeps wandering to Ben. 

Hux is not stupid; he may only be twenty, he may not have seen very much of life, but he is astute enough to recognise the light, expansive feeling in his chest when he thinks about Ben for what it is. He tries his best to tamp it down, mostly unsuccessfully. But he has to try. Nothing could come of it, after all. 

Romantic love is something he has accepted years ago that he will be spending the rest of his life without. He had accepted it gracefully, he had no desire to marry and he was happy to give his life in the service of God. 

Nobody had ever tempted him to stray from his path, and he cannot really understand what makes Ben any different. As it is, they have only met twice. But there it is. Ben would never reciprocate his nascent feelings, in any case, which makes it a bit easier. How could he? He’s not a sinner, not - not like Hux. He’d never even think of laying with another man. 

Hux closes his eyes. He’ll not finish this class prep in this state. 

He takes Millie out, rides her for over two hours. He takes her out of town, following the winding river, past the Golden Oak at the town gate, out past the marshy wetland on the outskirts of town. He rides her nearly to Gold Creek and turns back. The heat is still stifling, even at this time of evening, and Hux is exhausted when he finally leads Millicent back to the stables, locking her in for the evening. 

He has slept badly for several nights running, and after he has made himself a quick dinner of herring brought in from the fishmonger’s earlier and a couple of boiled potatoes, he bathes himself and turns in early. He is so tired he is engulfed by sleep practically the minute his head hits the pillow. 

That his dreams are plagued by visions of dark eyes and a soft smile he resolutely tries to ignore come morning. 

\----------------------------------------

 

Hux continues to visit Ben, daily when he can, and they talk, eat, sometimes ride together. Ben tells Hux what he used to do in Beaumont, tells him stories about the people he used to know. 

Hux discovers that Ben, once he is past his initial nervousness and taciturnity, is wonderful company, a kind, gentle person with, Hux is delighted to discover, a dry, deadpan wit to accompany his wry, knowing smile. 

The one subject that Ben refuses to broach, in any way, is that of his parents. Hux does not bring it up and does not expect Ben to. He does not ask Ben if he has any other family. Anyone else he has left behind. 

After a week or so, Ben relents and asks Phasma if he can help her at the shop. Hux already knows she will agree, and has told Ben this a hundred times. He starts off two days a week, just restacking shelves and taking inventory, but he seems happy enough. 

And Hux is happy enough, too. The dreams about Ben still plague his nights, but he is (mostly) able to put them to one side during the day and enjoy Ben’s company for what it is. He realises after a while that he is forgetting to even try to convince Ben to try coming to church. After a time, he finds he doesn’t really want to. 

Ben is whip-smart and pensive to go with it, soulful in a way Hux cannot hope to be. Hux is ever more reluctant to try pushing and pulling Ben in directions he clearly does not want to go the more time he spends with him. 

And yet, simultaneously, the converse is true. The more he grows to care for Ben, to see him as a friend, rather than just another parishioner, the harder it is to accept Ben’s damnation. Hux has been raised to believe that one must accept Jesus as their saviour, to enter the kingdom of heaven. The kind of life you live is not enough. Hux wants to explain this to Ben, try to make him understand that he wants to save him, but every time he tries, the words get stuck in his throat. 

He prays nightly. For his father, and the town, and the animals, and for himself. He is plagued, made sick by his burgeoning feelings for Ben. He feels alive with passion and desire in his dreams like he has never been in his waking hours. But his prayers do not avail him of any relief. 

One Thursday, a day Ben has been working at the store, Hux decides to call in and meet the two of them. Maybe they can eat together. Pastor Hux has been called away to Emmett Langley’s house. The man is tubercular and nearly at his last breath, and his wife has asked the pastor to be with him. 

There is a dance, that night, at the Town Hall. Just the sort of thing people his age should be getting up to of a warm summer evening, and yet Hux usually abstains. Tonight, though, he is feeling adventurous. 

“Evening,” he says as he enters the store, nodding at Phasma and Ben. “I hope today went well?”

Ben nods. “It was good. Lots of customers.”

“Fresh lot of mushrooms come in on a Thursday, that’s why.” Phasma grins. 

“I thought maybe three of us could eat something.” Says Hux. “Father’s away for the night.”

Ben shrugs. “Sure thing.”

Phasma narrows her eyes, grinning wickedly. “I have a better idea.” 

Which is how the night finds them dancing, already several cups in, and this is why Hux does not drink alcohol. 

They’d stopped in at the tavern first, Phasma had a glass of an ancient wine that Hux thinks Dameron had been keeping behind the bar for years, untouched. He and Ben drink whisky, and while Ben sips it calm and smooth, Hux chokes and splutters on the bitter warmth of it. Ben laughs at him, but not maliciously, it is a clear, warm, sweet laugh that goes right through Hux. 

Hux is not sure why he is surprised to learn that Ben can dance, but he is. The man leads Phasma in a brisk waltz with clean, gliding movements, the only man in the room that can match her either in poise or grace, as well as being the only man taller than her. They look wonderful together, and Hux is struck with a sharp little pang of jealousy, before angrily shrugging it away. 

He dances first with Phasma, although she puts him to shame as always, and then with Miss Kanata, the schoolmistress, a pretty young woman light on her feet and with a soft smile that comes from her eyes as much as her mouth. By this point his vision is swimming, and he knows it is more down to the whisky than an over-enthusiastic waltz step. 

He takes his seat, dizzy and exhausted, but eminently pleased, and far more relaxed and satisfied than he has been in a long time. Perhaps ever. 

Phasma and Ben take their seats beside him, Ben swigs another glass of whisky, offering a sip to Hux, who accepts with alacrity. 

“Well.” says Phasma, red-cheeked and radiant. “Quite a night this has been, boys. I didn’t know you had it in you, young Brendan.”

“Shh.” Hux bats at her weakly, his head nearly lolling. 

“I think we need to call it a night, don’t you two? Party’s coming to an end, anyhow.”

She is right, people are starting to leave, the crowd thinning as the townspeople make their way to their beds. 

Ben shakes his head. “Night doesn’t have to be over yet.” 

“Well, Mr Walker, what did you have in mind?”

Ben blushed. “We could go cool off in the river?”

Phasma blinks at him. 

\------------------------------------------------

“I can’t believe - ” Phasma squeals, flinching from the cold of the river water as she wades in. “ - that I agreed to this, Walker!”

Hux lays back, smiling, gently splashing Ben with a little water. He’s been swimming in this part of the river since he was a boy, and the alcohol has so warmed him, he hardly notices the chill of the river. Ben grins and splashes him back. 

Strictly speaking swimming is not permitted in the river, but Hux knows Tarkin and Mitaka look the other way, especially on a hot summer’s day when the children want to cool down and play, their parents sitting by the banks reading or chatting. He is sure Tarkin wouldn’t approve of this, but he doesn’t care. 

He and Ben are stripped down to their undergarments, Phasma in her slip and stockings. Ben swims up and down the length of river a couple of times, while Phasma perches on the bank swinging her legs back and forth, and Hux relaxes against the inside bank. The river is shallow enough to touch his toes to the bottom. He does so, swirling his toes through the mud. 

The three get out eventually, a slight chill setting in, and they are starting to shiver. Phasma steals off to try and find something to dry them off with, and Hux collapses, still in nothing but his underwear, on the bank, arms splayed by his side. He no longer feels quite so dizzy, but the alcohol sits hot in his stomach, in his veins, and he is lightheaded as Ben lies down next to him. 

“Quite a night.” He says.

Hux turns his head. “Yeah, it was somethin’.”

Ben smiles at him, soft. “I haven’t had this good a time in a long, long time, you know.”

Hux smiles back. “Me neither.”

Hux shifts, and their hands brush. It is an accident, but Ben does not move away. He stiffens, a little, but he leaves his hand where it is, pinky finger brushing against Hux’s. 

Lost, dizzied by the sensation of Ben’s skin against his own, and made bold by the whisky coursing through him, Hux lays his hand atop Ben’s, palms touching, just lightly, that is all. It is Ben that threads their fingers together and squeezes, and Hux can hardly breathe. He cannot look away from Ben. 

And yet he knows that if he doesn’t he will give in, and let his desires overtake him, give rein to his overwhelming urge to pull Ben to him and kiss him full on the mouth. The way Ben is looking at him, lips full and wet, pupils blown, cheeks tinted red, maybe -maybe he’d reciprocate, after all. Maybe Hux could - 

“Come on, lazybones!” Phasma throws an old brown towel at the pair of them, appearing in Hux’s peripheral vision. Ben pulls his hand roughly away from Hux’s own and stands. Hux prays Phasma has not seen. She may like him enough not to report him, but he’d certainly never hear the end of her teasing. 

They dry quickly, Hux refusing to meet Ben’s eyes. 

Phasma smiles at him. “Come on, Mr Walker, I think we’d best get our Brendan here into his bed. He’s not used to this sort of frivolous behaviour, you know.”

Ben smiles back, a little sadly. “Let’s do that.”

\----------------------------------------------

The next day, Hux feels dreadful. He is sick all the morning, and has to tell his father he ate some undercooked meat the previous night. 

Still as rotten as he does feel, he cannot help but feel a pleasurable warmth run through his chest and settle at the bottom of his stomach whenever he remembers the previous night. He does not remember everything, but he remembers dancing, remembers watching Phasma and Ben, remembers, more clearly than anything, the feeling of Ben’s large, warm hand in his own.

He gives evening service, and decides he needs to see Ben. 

He takes an oil lamp out, as it is beginning to get dark, and is a cloudy evening. Rain is coming tomorrow, thinks Hux. 

He knocks on Ben’s door, and this time, Ben answers immediately. His face falls slightly, and Hux’s gut churns. 

“Hey, Bren.” he says, slowly. “What can I do for you?”

“Can I come in?”

Ben pauses, but nods. 

Hux sits, as normal, next to Ben on his low dining room chairs. Ben takes a seat, and Hux can see that he is unsettled. 

“Do you want a drink?” He mumbles. 

“No, no - that’s - Ben, are you okay?”

Ben is silent. 

“Ben. Please. Talk to me?”

Hux reaches out to lay his hand over Ben’s, it is meant to be a comforting gesture, but Ben pulls his hand away violently. 

“Ben.”

“I don’t think we should be seeing each other again, Hux.” 

Hux feels a hot wave of shame and fear creep through him, pinking his cheeks. “W-why not?” He asks, trying (and failing) to keep his voice level. 

“We spend far too much time together. I’m keeping you from your duties, from - you - you’re a man of _God_ , Bren.” Ben says desperately.

“I see.” Hux does see. “I understand. I apologise for my behaviour.” He says, an icy edge starting to drift into his voice, one that he hasn’t used when speaking to Ben. 

“You don’t.” Snaps Ben. “You - it’s for you! It’s for your own good.”

“Here I always thought I could decide what was good for me on my own, but I stand corrected.” Says Hux. 

“You - it’s for your safety.”

Hux shakes his head. “That doesn’t even make sense. Do me the courtesy of being honest with me, Ben. I thought we were friends. Now you want to cast me aside like so much garbage. Please tell me why.”

Ben closes his eyes. “I can’t give you what you want from me.” He whispers. “Surely you understand that.” 

Hux blinks, once, and nods. 

He gets up to leave, shaking hands pushing the chair back in, expression closed off. 

He shuts the door behind him firmly as he leaves, not looking back once. Ben does not even protest. 

Hux walks, quickly but calmly, towards the river. He nods to Finn amiably as he walks past the butcher’s, slides a letter into the post box, and carries on, walking briskly until he is out of town, by the river, until he finds his clearing.

He waits until he is sure he is sitting alone, on the end of his pier, before he breaks down into tears. 

\-------------------------------------------

Hux’s restlessness of body is an uneasy juxtaposition with his intense lassitude of mind and spirit. He needs to see Ben, needs to speak to him. Ben had turned him away, though. He didn’t want Hux, in any sense, was repulsed, disgusted by Hux. Rightly so.

_You stupid, filthy boy._ Hux mind shouts at him, cold, cruel, and the voice is his father’s. _A sinner in the eyes of the Lord will always be struck down._

Hux wanders the quiet streets for hours after Ben has turned him out. Contemplates going back to beg Ben to tell him what he has done wrong; cannot face it. Thinks about going home, cannot face the stark, cold emptiness of his bed, either. 

So he wanders. 

His lamps dims as the light start to wane, flickering in the gentle breeze. 

He finds himself in a small, unlit passageway close to the tavern. The last patrons for the night he hears stumble out in the distance. 

A sound shuffles behind him, and he starts, and turns, but he is too late, and before he knows it he is on the floor, his lamp clattering away out of reach. 

He is set upon by the drunkard, grasping at him, growling at him to give up any money he has (and, of course, he has none, but there is no telling that to this man). 

“I said give me!” the man hisses, and through the darkness Hux realises it is Edward Palpatine, the lawyer’s son. 

Hux shakes his head. “I've got nothing - please-”

Palpatine, though, is not appeased, and draws back to reveal a sturdy hunting knife in his belt. 

He is drawing it, advancing on Hux, stumbling in his inebriation, when several things happen very quickly. 

Hux is trying to get up, grappling for his light and trying to scramble to his feet, when Palpatine seems to be bowled over by a large, dark, shape. 

Hux draws back, terrified at first that the wolf has found them, and he will be its next meal, once it is finished with Palpatine. 

He is about to run, when he looks closer to see that the thing mauling his would-be attacker is not a animal at all, but a man. Or at a least, a man-shaped creature. It has sharp, jagged teeth which Hux watches tear into Palpatine’s jugular, ripping his throat away and covering him, and the street, in violent spurts of arterial blood. 

Hux watches in amazement. The man - thing - whatever it is is completely naked, now soaked red with blood. It has sharp claws where its nails should be.

It turns to face him as Palpatine drops to the floor, still twitching. 

The eyes are filled with crimson, the snarling mouth open, and Hux gasps with recognition. 

“Ben? Ben, is that you?” he whispers. 

The creature stares at him, red eyes wide and breathing heavily. There is no doubt that this is Ben, this is the man he has come to care for so deeply, staring back at him through crimson eyes. 

Ben looks scared, in pain, and is not moving towards Hux. Blood drips down him, marring his beautiful body. 

Hux walks towards him slowly. 

Ben sniffs, gazing at Hux. “You shouldn’t be out.” He growls, voice lower, rougher than normal. 

“Nor should you.” Says Hux with a tentative smile. “Is this why you told me you never wanted to see me again?”

Ben narrows his eyes, sharp teeth flashing. “I am trying to protect you.”

“And I’m grateful. I was a dead man, back then, if you hadn’t come. How did you even know I was here?”

Ben tilts his head, his eyes flashing. “I felt you. I sensed your pain and fear. I’ve always been able to feel you.”

Hux’s heart pounds. “You can do that - you can sense people’s emotions?”

Ben ducks his head down. “Not everyone’s.” He mumbles. 

Hux looks at him. Ben is slowly recoiling from him, whether he is afraid or ashamed, Hux doesn’t know, but he hates it. 

“Ben. Look at me.”

Ben meets his eyes. “Why? You can’t - can’t you see me, Bren? I’m - this is what I really am. Why would you want to look at me for a second?”

“I don’t want to look at anything else.” Hux says simply, resting his open palm on Ben’s cheek. Ben starts, slightly, but then relaxes, leaning into Hux’s warm hand, closing his eyes. 

“You’re not afraid of me.” He whispers. 

Hux shrugs. “Don’t see anything to to be afraid of.”

They stand there for all of a minute before Hux comes to his senses. 

“We have to go. Come on. Doesn’t do to be hanging round a dead body, now.”

Hux wraps Ben in his overcoat and takes his hand. 

“But - where - ”

“Shh. Come on.”

\------------------------------------------------------

It takes them ten minutes at most to get to the small, freezing barn that adjoins the rectory, but it feels closer to a hour, Hux is so terrified they'll be caught. He's not entirely sure how he'd explain the completely naked man covered from head to foot in human blood to his father. 

He pulls Ben inside and sits him down on the little bench, taking a seat beside him. There's a cast iron tap in the barn Hux supposed was once used when the land was farmed properly. He can soak a rag and let Ben wash away the blood, once they've both caught their breath. 

“I'm sorry you had to see that.” Says Ben in a whisper. 

Hux puts his hand over Ben’s. “I'm not. You probably saved my life.”

“I should have been able to control myself better than that. I could have hurt you.”

“I don't think you could ever do that, Ben.”

Hux takes Ben’s hands in his own.

“Kylo.”

“What?”

“My real name is Kylo. My true name. Ben is my human name.”

Hux smiles softly. “Kylo.”

Kylo is silent for a moment. As though he is not quite sure what to do, what to say. 

“What are you going to do with me?” he asks suddenly, softly. 

“Well, you're covered in blood. I thought I'd start with cleaning you up a bit.” Says Hux in as even a tone as he can manage.

“You know that's not what I mean.”

“I don't know, Kylo.” Hux sighs. “I'll find some way to look after you.”

“Look after me? What are you talking about?”

“The Sheriff will assume the wolf killed Palpatine. That'll buy us a little time, at least. There weren't any witnesses, I don't think, and - “

“Bren.”

“Yes?”

“You're not going to turn me in.” Kylo’s voice is confused, bewildered, and - hopeful?

“Turn you in? You mean to Tarkin? I - I never thought of that.”

And, Hux realises, it's true. It never occurred to him for a second to turn Kylo over to Tarkin. He supposes it should have done. Kylo has, after all, committed a murder tonight. Killed countless animals. And Hux has no idea what else. But all he can think of is keeping Kylo safe.

“I'd never do that.”

“You don't understand.” Kylo is shivering a little. “What I've done. What I could do. To the people here. To you. I've been trying so hard, to just drink from animals, I thought - I thought when I came here I could get a fresh start. And now everything is falling apart again.”

Hux shakes his head, pulls closer to Kylo’s trembling form. “It's like I said. You protected me there. I'm going to do the same for you. I don't care what you are. You're my friend.” 

Kylo is silent, head bowed. It is not getting any warmer, and Hux needs to get Kylo clean and find him some clothes. He fills the bucket with (unfortunately, freezing) water. 

“This rag’s not very clean, I’m afraid.”

Kylo is still trembling. “Would you?”

“Would I - clean the blood off you?”

“Yeah.”

“Are you sure you - are you sure?”

Kylo nods, uncrosses his arms to bare his firm, broad chest. The blood is mostly dry now, a sticky and congealed mess. Hux kneels on the hardwood floor, his coat discarded and his sleeves rolled up. He starts with Kylo’s neck. Kylo closes his eyes and lets out a breath at the first touch of the wet cloth and Hux’s cold fingers on his exposed neck. Hux’s heart is pounding. 

“I should explain.”

“You don’t have to.” Says Hux. “Not if you don’t want.”

“I don’t want you to be afraid of me.”

“I’m not.” Hux squeezes the cloth, rubbing light circles on Kylo’s collarbone, wiping away the flecks of coppery, pungent blood that have gathered there. 

“I’m not - not what you think. I’m not the devil.”

“I never thought you were.”

“Just a monster.”

“Not that, either.”

“I’m half human.” Kylo says. “My mother was human. My father - he was like me. I take after him, I suppose.”

“So you really are twenty-three?”

Kylo nods. “I am. I’ll age like a normal human. I just - I need to eat.”

“Is it just blood?”

Kylo swallows. “It’s - organs are the best thing for me. As fresh as possible. Hearts, mostly. Blood is good, but it has to be fresh.”

Hux hesitates, holding his hands over Kylo’s firm torso. “Human?”

“Human is preferable. I try to avoid it, though. It draws more attention. It’s harder, though, the hungrier I am.”

Hux nods, hesitantly pushing Kylo’s legs apart and settling between them. “Do you want to do this part?”

Kylo shakes his head. “I’m all right with it if you are.”

Hux tries his level best to finish cleaning Kylo off in as clinical a manner as he can. Which is not easy, sitting between Kylo’s thick, trembling, pale thighs, his cock hard where it sits nestled in thick black curls. The thought that Kylo is enjoying his attentions makes Hux’s blood rush to his face, making his freckled cheeks, and the tips of his ears turn red. 

He sits next to Kylo when he is done, tossing the bloodied cloth to one side to be disposed of later. He wants - he needs - to hold Kylo to him. 

Kylo’s arms come around his slender body, pulling him onto his lap. Hux’s heart pounds in his chest as Kylo inhales his scent, face buried in Hux’s neck. His fingers thread though Hux’s hair, making him gasp softly. 

“I’m sorry I tried to push you away. I just wanted to keep you safe.”

Hux squeezes him tightly. “Don’t do it again.” 

Kylo’s hands grip his hair and his lips open, hot and wet, against Hux’s neck. Hux moans as quietly as he is able. “Did you mean what you said, about just wantin’ to be friends?” Kylo’s voice is low, thick and husky with arousal. 

Hux shakes his head, gasping as he feels Kylo’s teeth on his neck. “No - I - no, Kylo.”

Kylo has pulled him into a rough kiss before he knows it, lifting him bodily into his arms. He is lain on the wooden floor in a flash, Kylo’s tongue slipping into his mouth, hot and wet. Hux reciprocates in kind before he can stop to think about it, mouthing almost mindlessly at Kylo, trying to keep his moans of pleasure as low as he can. Kylo’s body is so warm, the weight of him is perfect on top of Hux, and Hux very nearly ceases to care if they are caught, so glad is he that this is finally happening, this thing that has plagued his dreams, his fantasies. He groans low in his throat as Kylo ruts against him, cock hard and wet at the tip. He is tugging fruitlessly at Hux’s shirt collar, trying frantically to divest him of his clothes. 

Hux helps him out, standing up and quickly pulling himself free of his shirt and pants as Kylo takes his long coat and lays it on the floor for Hux. Hux tries his best not to let Kylo see how nervous he is. Nobody has ever seen him naked before. He awkwardly tries to conceal his burgeoning erection with his hands, stiff and leaking between his legs, surrounded by thick red hair. Kylo, though, is looking as though he’d like to devour Hux (perhaps, Hux thinks, in a fleeting moment of fear, he would). 

Kylo, still on his knees, pulls Hux’s hands away from his cock and buries his face in the curls there, inhaling Hux’s scent, mouthing wetly at the junction between hip and thigh. Hux gasps, instinctively burying his hands in Kylo’s lush hair. Kylo smiles and pulls him down to the floor.

They are upon each other again, grasping at hot skin, Kylo’s nails digging into Hux’s back as they kiss fervently, thrusting arhythmically against each other. Hux is nearly delirious with pleasure, he cannot believe anything could feel like this - is this what he has been missing out on - is this what he had given up on - he never wants to stop. How can anything compare to this, to Kylo’s large, ungainly, utterly perfect body between his legs, above him, against him, to his hot tongue pushing against his own, to Kylo’s hands in his hair, pulling, tugging.

But Kylo does stop. He is stroking, curiously, at Hux’s back, feeling the ever so slightly raised scar tissue beneath his fingertips.

“What - ?”

“It’s - it’s nothing. Just old war wounds. Don’t - you don’t need to - ”

Kylo frowns, turning Hux gently over onto his stomach. His fingertips trace the pale, white, thin lines, extending from the bottom of his shoulder blades nearly to his tailbone. 

“Who - when did this happen?” Asks Kylo quietly. 

“I was fourteen.” Says Hux simply. “There was a boy from the next town over, Gold Creek. His name was Michael.” 

Hux turns back over to face Kylo, realising as he does so that he never had found out what happened to Michael. His parents had emigrated from Ireland when he was six, and he had talked with Hux for hours about his hometown. Hux had never been. He had dreamed of it, sometimes. Michael had moved away with his parents, very shortly after the incident, and Hux had never heard from him again. For the best, he suspects. 

“My father caught us, kissing under the Golden Oak. My first and last kiss, until you.” Hux smiles, a little sadly. 

“So - so, he - ”

“He tied me by my wrists to a heating pipe in the cellar and lashed me until I bled from every wound. He left me there for a day, afterwards.” Hux says evenly, unable to look Kylo in the eye as he says this. 

When he does so, he is unnerved to see flashes of red in Kylo’s eyes, to feels his body tense and stiff against him. 

As though willing himself to calm down for Hux’s sake, Kylo’s eyes soften into their normal golden brown, and he kisses Hux, more softly than before, holding him close. Hux wraps his arms back around Kylo, and kisses back. Kylo gently nips and kisses along his jaw, up to his ears, and finally latching on to his pulse point. 

As he is laid back on to his coat, he parts his creamy thighs for Kylo once more, cock hard and throbbing again and leaking with his arousal. 

“Kylo-” he gasps, voice thick and low. “Would you - I want you to take me. To fuck me. Please.”

Kylo bites his lip, eyes hooded, pupils black and blown. His hands have Hux’s hips in a vicegrip, the head of his cock nudging at Hux’s hole.

“I - we can’t, without something.” Says Kylo. “Oil, or something like that.”

Hux gestures vaguely behind him. “Will the oil from my lamp do? It should be cool enough by now.”

Kylo nods, unscrewing it and dipping his fingers inside. He coats his cock liberally in the oil until it is dripping from him. Hux tries not to think about how dreadfully unsanitary it must be, how much he wishes he had some olive oil, or something of the kind. Kylo manages to push thought out of his mind altogether as he rubs some of the oil around Hux’s entrance with two of his fingers, kissing Hux lightly as he does so. 

“All right?” Says Kylo, nudging his nose against Hux’s, peppering his mouth with kisses. 

Hux nods. “Yes.” 

Kylo breathes out slowly as he grips his cock and nudges the tip inside of Hux. Hux bites down on the inside of his mouth, willing himself to relax - but, oh, Kylo is so big. Long and thick and Hux feels so full, already, and Kylo is only halfway there. 

“Still all right?” Smiles Kylo. “We can stop any time, you know. I don’t want to hurt you.”

Hux squeezes Kylo’s forearm. “I don’t want to stop.”

Kylo nods. He hooks an arm under one of Hux’s legs, pulling it up nearly to Hux’s shoulder. Hux feels his hamstring muscles burning, but Kylo’s cock slides in more easily, and soon he is buried to the hilt in Hux’s incredibly tight, hot passage. 

He pauses a second to kiss Hux again before moving, slow, gentle thrusts at first. Hux is still a little uncomfortable, his body feels like it might split in two. But just the thought of being so close to Kylo, to have his body filled with another person (and he feels so full, Kylo fills him completely), to know he is as close to Kylo as it is possible to get, the thought sends a shiver of arousal down his spine. 

He moans loudly, cursing himself for it, when Kylo starts to speed up, bending his head to nip and suck at Hux’s nipples, taking one, then the other into his mouth, playing with them with his fingers and tongue as his cock pounds into Hux relentlessly. 

Hux is forced to bite down hard on his lips in an attempt to contain the cries he wants to let out. Kylo’s cock is hitting a spot inside him on almost every thrust, a spot that make his eyes roll back in his head. His own cock is leaking profusely now, balls starting to tighten as he nears completion. He feels briefly guilty for not being able to last longer for Kylo. Next time. 

“Kylo, oh, Kylo -” Hux gasps, nails digging in hard to Kylo’s shoulders.

“Bren,” Kylo whispers, biting down gently on Hux’s earlobe, sucking it into his mouth. “Do you know how long I’ve wanted this? I’ve wanted you since the first moment I saw you. I saw you come out of the church the first day I came here. Your hair was just golden in the sunlight, and your hands-”

“My - my hands?” Hux gasps as Kylo thrusts hard.

“They were just long and - I don’t know. They looked - gentle. I knew then, I knew I had to have you, had to be with you. When you came to see me that first time, I knew I was done for.”

“Kylo!” Hux is unable to contain his cry, Kylo bends over him to kiss him hard, slipping his tongue into Hux’s mouth again. 

Kylo grips Hux’s cock with one of his large, soft hands, and Hux is coming suddenly, so hard, and this is, oh god, this is the best thing he has ever felt, stars behind his eyes as he squeezes them tightly shut, his mouth hanging open, he must look such a fool but he does not care. He tightens, spasming, around Kylo’s cock, riding the waves of his incredible pleasure. He feels his hot come spurting out of him in intense bursts of pleasure, streaking his chest white, as far as his chin. 

Kylo is riding him all through it, still fucking him hard. Hux looks up at him, opening his eyes, and gasps, seeing the deep crimson of Kylo’s eyes, the jagged, sharp teeth, feeling those nails dig into his hips, points piercing his soft flesh. Hux knows he will be bleeding but does not care, Kylo is nuzzling at his neck, nosing him at his shoulder, the soft junction with his arm.

“I - Bren, oh Bren, can I - ” Kylo’s low, growling voice goes straight through Hux’s body, his spent cock twitching in another burst of arousal. 

“Yes, Kylo, god, I - oh!” Hux cries out as Kylo bites down on his shoulder, hard, feels his skin breaking, tearing beneath Kylo’s sharp, pointed teeth. 

Kylo gives a low, throaty moan as he stills above Hux, spilling his orgasm into Hux’s waiting body. Hux holds him close, stroking his hair, mouthing wet kisses at Kylo’s neck, and Kylo thrusts erratically once, twice, his orgasm seeming to last forever. He finally sighs, his body slumping onto Hux’s trembling, prone one beneath him. 

His teeth are back to normal, his eyes still flashing hot red but receding back to his human colour as he regains control of himself, of his spent body. His ragged claws retract, shrinking back into normal nails. 

Hux is still breathing hard, heavy, as Kylo places a kiss to his wounded shoulder, opening his hot mouth up wide to clean the wound with his tongue. He suckles gently at it, taking Hux’s bitter, coppery blood into his mouth, drinking Hux down. He laps at the torn skin until it briefly stops bleeding, kissing it again as he moves his red-stained mouth over to Hux’s come-splattered chest. 

He looks up at Hux, eyes still hooded with latent desire. “I’ve made a mess of you.” He says, low. 

Hux closes his eyes, breathing in hard as Kylo begins to lap up the cooling ropes of semen scattered over Hux’s torso. He nips gently at Hux’s nipples, pink and pebbled in the cool evening air, now more palpable in the draughty barn as their sweat-drenched bodies relax, and become exposed to the cool air. 

Kylo works his way down Hux’s body slowly, torturously slowly, lapping up every bit of Hux’s come until he is clean. Hux is not hard again yet, but his cock twitches with every touch of Kylo’s wet, hot tongue to his sensitive skin. 

Kylo kisses him on the tip of his cock before moving lower, nipping at his pale, soft inner thigh. 

“Well, look at that. I’ve made a mess of you here, too.” He says with a wicked grin before ducking down and burying his face in Hux’s ass.

Hux gasps, grasping wildly at Kylo’s hair as his tongue laps at Hux’s sore, twitching hole, teasing Hux with the flat of his tongue as he drinks in his own come, leaking from Hux’s body. His thumbs pull Hux’s cheeks further apart as his tongue continues to work at Hux, more warm semen dripping out of Hux where Kylo had filled him. Kylo eats it all up, takes every bit of himself into his mouth and swallows, and Hux mentally amends his earlier statement - this is, without doubt, the most pleasurable thing he has ever experienced. 

He is having to bite down on his own hand to prevent himself from screaming, when without warning Kylo, flips them over, lying down and pulling Hux up roughly, guiding him to sit over his face. 

Hux whimpers as he feels even more of Kylo’s come leak out of him, dripping onto Kylo’s face as he once more buries his tongue in Hux’s hole. He stiffens it to a point, now, and thrusts it in past the ring of muscle, now relaxed and pliant for him. Hux plants his hands either side of Kylo’s head and sits, leaning as much of his weight as he dares onto Kylo’s face.

Kylo seems to sense his hesitation, pulls him further down by the hips, encouraging Hux to ride his tongue. When Hux’s body is finally empty of Kylo’s come, Kylo having cleaned him completely, Kylo flips him over again, gripping his once-again hard cock tight between long fingers and working him fast. 

Hux pulls Kylo’s face down to meet his, licking his lips before plunging his tongue into Kylo’s, his own heady taste mingling with the sharp saltiness of Kylo’s come. 

He grasps Kylo’s cock, hard again as well, and they grip each other as they both stroke each other frantically to yet another blinding orgasm. Hux comes first, spilling into Kylo’s fist, and Kylo is not far behind. 

It takes Hux several minutes for his breathing to return to normal. He lays out by Kylo’s side, Kylo lacing their fingers together and squeezing his hand. 

Kylo cleans them off with the discarded cloth before returning to the floor, gathering Hux into his arms and covering them both in Hux’s long coat. He presses a gentle, light kiss to Hux’s abused shoulder. 

“‘M sorry. I never meant to - ”

“Shh, Kylo. It’s all right. I wanted you to.”

“I didn’t wanna scare you.” Says Kylo quietly. “The way I looked, then - ”

“You were beautiful, Kylo. You always are, no matter what. You never did anything I didn’t want.”

“You liked it, then?” Asks Kylo, stiffly, hesitantly, his hands stilling on Hux’s body.

Hux leans back, presses a chaste kiss to Kylo’s plump, bitten lips. “Yeah. I loved it, Kylo.” he says softly. “Best thing I’ve ever done, really.” 

Kylo reddens. “Stay with me.” 

“I - I can’t, Kylo. I wish I could, believe me, but if we fall asleep and my father finds us, we’re both dead men. I can’t risk it.”

Kylo swallows. “I understand.” He doesn’t sound like he does, but Hux has to hold firm. 

He dresses himself again, tidies up as best he can. He washes out the cloth, he’ll have to see about burning it come morning, it is still bloodstained. 

Kisses Kylo, once, lightly. Any more and he will not be able to leave Kylo, he knows.

“Will you be all right out there, tonight?”

Kylo nods. “I can get back to the house unseen. I’ll be fine. Never anyone about at this time.”

“All right, then. Can I. Would you let me come see you again?”

“Of course.” Replies Kylo, running his hand through Hux’s hair. “Meet me tomorrow by the river, sundown?”

Hux smiles shyly. “I’ll be there.”

It is a wrench to leave Kylo, but it must be done. He kisses him one last time and steals back into the house, praying his father doesn’t wake. 

As he closes the door to his bedroom as quietly as he can manage, a stab of guilt courses through him. He’s lost, maybe, the right to pray for anything at all. Would his god still listen to him? 

As he closes his eyes, trying to let sleep overtake him, he can’t help but feel, in this moment, that even if he is damned, the feeling of Kylo holding him, around him and in him, might almost be worth it. 

\-----------------------------------------------------

It is uproar in the morning. 

Hux is hardly surprised, but still he wakes early, very early given how late he’d been to bed. He scarcely slept a wink for worrying about Kylo, despite knowing that rationally, there’s nothing to connect Kylo to the killing. Or him. 

Nonetheless, Pastor Hux calls him to the station immediately once he’s done with breakfast, no later than eight o’clock. 

Sheriff Tarkin is looking grim indeed. A tall, slender woman of around thirty-five years of age, with a long, straight nose, hard, cold blue eyes, and pale golden hair is sat in the Sheriff’s sitting room, being inexpertly ministered to by Deputy Mitaka. This, Hux knows, is Viola Palpatine, the widow, and Sheriff Tarkin’s niece to boot. Hux knows from personal experience how unpleasant a woman she is, but nonetheless his stomach is filled with a leaden guilt as he sees her red eyes and trembling hands. 

His own private confusion as to how anyone could love Edward Palpatine to any extent does little to abate his feeling of guilt. 

He offers her his sympathy, and the support and guidance of the church, should she need someone to talk to. She eyes him suspiciously, but nods. 

He draws Mitaka aside. “What are they going to do?” He asks in his most level tone. He sees the others gathering, Sammy Finn, Poe Dameron, Thanisson, and Unamo, the notary (and a close friend of Palpatine Senior) have joined the party, and again he feels a surge of protectiveness wash over him, of worry for Kylo. But what can he do? 

“I think another search party. This beast’s obviously hidin’ itself well. But I don’t see what else we can do. Not even now it’s killed a man.”

Hux nods. He’ll be no help here. He doesn’t trust himself to get involved, lest he stupidly, inadvertently give something away. Regretfully, he retreats to Phasma’s.

\----------------------------------------------------------

When Hux returns home that evening, he is pleased to see his father is already abed. Sundown is not until ten o’clock at this time of year, but he is still nervous. Nervous and thrilled with excitement to see Kylo again. Despite the stress and distractions of the day, he has barely been out of Hux’s mind a minute. He’s been worrying, yes, but mostly, he’s been recalling the feel of Kylo above him, the taste of his skin. He’s been wondering all day if the whole thing hadn’t been a fever dream, brought on by the heat. 

They meet at a little stile a ways beyond the field, part of the short wooden fence on the boundary between the lands belonging to the church and the little path down to the river.

Hus is the first there, and for a few dreadful moments he thinks Kylo is not coming, that he is hurt, or worse. Or perhaps that he has realised the mistake he has made. 

But then Kylo is there, smiling that terrible smile, ruffling his messy hair shyly. 

“I wasn’t sure you’d be here.” He says, and Hux practically gapes at him. 

“Me? I - I thought the same about you!” He can’t help but laugh. 

They make awkward small talk as they move towards the barn, careful not to touch each other at all, on the off chance that anyone should see them. 

Hux is a little nervous as they enter the barn, a thousands ‘what-ifs’ racing through his mind as he pulls the door to. 

But then he is in Kylo’s arms, being held, being kissed deeply, and all his worries temporarily cease to matter. 

\-------------------------------------------------------

They meet every night for a week, and it is the most perfect week of Hux’s short life. 

They talk by the river, Kylo telling Hux stories of his old life in Texas, of the people he has known, jobs he has done. He even tells Hux, gradually, carefully, details of his life not as a human, but as half-demon. Hux can tell how afraid Kylo is, still, to reveal himself to Hux.

But Hux does not push him. One night he throws caution to the wind, and asks Kylo to show his true self to Hux, once again. Kylo is hesitant, but accedes, and Hux was not wrong in his assessment that Kylo is beautiful like this. He kisses his lips softly and holds Kylo’s hands in his. 

But mostly they touch, and kiss, and Hux allows Kylo to make love to him over and over, until they are both breathless and unable to move. Another night Hux loses his mind and fucks Kylo outside, in the same clearing by the river they had met in, those weeks ago. They have been kissing, pulling mindlessly at each other, and Hux will not wait. He does not even remove their clothes, just unbuttons their pants and frantically rides Kylo to completion. 

A week after they first fucked, Kylo asks Hux to take him. 

Kylo loses himself, his ability to control himself, far more quickly like this, below Hux, with Hux’s cock thick inside his heat, and Hux leaves the encounter with jagged wounds on his lower back and ass from Kylo’s nails, pulling at him desperately, trying to take him deeper. His moans are louder, he wants Hux to take him hard and fast, and he feels so magnificent below Hux. Seeing this perfect creature, this man, come apart so entirely beneath him is too much for Hux, and he comes embarrassingly quickly, pulling out to finish Kylo with his hands and mouth, trying his best to emulate Kylo’s own technique. He is sloppy, he knows, but Kylo comes quickly, spilling his release into Hux’s mouth, over his chin. 

This is everything Hux wants. The nagging flashes of guilt that clutch at him still are starting to subside, to come at him less frequently. Nothing else seems to matter very much when he’s in Kylo’s arms. 

\------------------------------------------------------

It is a Tuesday when it ends. 

Deputy Mitaka bursts into the rectory study, a mixture of terrified confusion and guilty excitement on his face. 

“Bren!”

Hux starts, looking up from his paperwork. “Deputy. What’s the news?”

“The news? Bren, we’ve _caught_ it! The beast!”

Hux’s stomach drops a little, but he rallies. “That’s excellent news, Mitaka. Was it a wolf, after all, then? I take it the thing’s been shot already?”

Mitaka shakes his head. “God in heaven help us, Hux, it’s no wolf. It’s a man. A demon!”

This time Hux’s stomach leaps into his throat, bile rising suddenly into his oesophagus. Panic such as he has never known grips him, he hears the blood pounding in his ears as he attempts to respond. 

“A man? But - that’s unbelievable, Mitaka.”

“I tell you, it weren’t no man. We were on patrol just now, the Sheriff and I, and we took ourselves to that little alley behind Finn’s, we heard a noise you see, and he was there! Suckin’ the blood out of some hare! Looked to me like one Finn had tossed, probably had a bullet in him, but that’s neither here nor there. Hux, you should’ve seen this thing. Fangs, it’s got. Red eyes and nails as sharp as you like! I thought Tarkin and I were goners.”

Hux wills himself to calm down, blinks back the tears that are threatening. _Kylo, you stupid man, how could you? In broad daylight? He must have been starving to do a stupid thing like that._

“What have you done with him, then?”

“Shot him in the leg. That slowed him right down. He’s chained up outside the church, now. And Hux, god, there’s something - you’ve got to see this, you’ve gotta come!”

Hux sets his pen down and caps his inkwell. Mitaka’s horse is waiting patiently for him at the front of the rectory, and the two ride off on the back of her, galloping as fast she can manage towards the church. 

Sheriff Tarkin, Pastor Hux, and Thanisson, the butcher’s boy, are already present when Hux and Mitaka ride up. Hux’s father has an almost maniacal look in his eye, and the Sheriff has never looked more solemn.

Hux feels sick as he lays eyes on Kylo, injured leg sticking out at an odd angle, hair falling over his face. His legs and arms are both shackled, and he is struggling to even sit up, lying broken in the hot dirt outside the church. 

Upon looking more closely, Hux sees that Kylo’s left eye is bruising blue and yellow, blood trickling from his nostrils still. He looks like he’s been worked over already. Probably by Hux’ father, he thinks. He’s solidly built for a pastor, after all, and Sheriff Tarkin prefers not to get his own hands dirty. 

Hux swallows. He needs to keep in control of himself, and never has it been more difficult. His cheeks are burning red, his heart stuck in his throat and beating so hard he can hear the blood pumping through his ears. He is almost surprised the others can’t hear it, too. 

Still, he does not move towards Kylo. Once break down, and he loses the chance to save Kylo forever. 

“Now.” he says, slowly. “Let’s think about this a little bit first.”

His voice is very nearly shaking, and he mentally applauds himself for the fact that the others fail to notice. 

“Do we have any kind of evidence this man has been responsible for the killings?” He asks as evenly as he can. He directs the question to the Sheriff, but it is his father that answers. 

“Caught the creature at it. Bent over one of Sammy Finn’s hares in the little passage behind the butcher’s, son.”

“And that’s all we have?” Returns Hux, unimpressed. “He could’ve been tending to it for all we know.”

Deputy Mitaka interjects. “Bren, no. I told you. He was sucking at its neck, you know. All covered in the poor thing’s blood.”

Hux has a momentary lapse, relieved that at least some of the blood on Kylo is not his own. “That’s no proof he killed the horses, and certainly no proof he’s not human. You believe this, father? That this man can be a servant of the devil. Here, in River Ranch.”

Pastor Hux grunts. “I believe this ain’t a man, that’s what I believe.”

Hux shakes his head, frustrated and scared beyond belief. “This is paranoia talking. This isn’t truth, or evidence. Are we some godforsaken oil-soaked panhandle town, a people with no laws and no government, and no God?” 

Sheriff Tarkin sighs, and indicates to Deputy Mitaka and young Thanisson with two fingers. “Show him.” He says, briefly, his eyes flickering to the church. 

“Show me what?”

Kylo shakes violently as Mitaka and Thanisson grab him bodily, each holding an arm and dragging him roughly to his feet. He is trying to fight, Hux can tell, but he is weak. Hungry, desperate, and shackled, he hasn’t a hope of fighting them off. 

A fresh pit of dread and nausea opens up in Hux’ stomach as they drag Kylo to the west entrance door, still open from early service. Hux follows them as they pull Kylo inside, shove him hard to his knees. Mitaka has him by the back of the neck, holds him down.

Hux looks to the Sheriff. “Well. what is it you wanted to show me? What are you going to do to him?”

No one answers him. 

He looks from the Sheriff to his father in bewilderment, but hears a small whimper from Kylo and is transfixed. 

Kylo starts to shake, a soft, miserable tremble at first, then worse, more violent spasms. He whines, cries out in agony, and when he looks up at Hux his eyes are blown wide, not red as Hux expects, but black. He coughs, splutters, and Hux is afraid he is coughing up blood, his earlier injuries aggravated by the rough treatment, but he is wrong. Viscous, black fluid, Kylo is coughing up violently, it is pouring from his eyes, too, and as Kylo swings his arms, trying to lash out, to escape, Hux sees that the tips of his fingers are darkening to a deep crimson, swelling with the blood boiling inside him. 

Hux cannot stand it. 

“Enough!” He barks. “That’s enough. You’ve made your point.”

Mitaka shakes his head. “This thing’s a _demon_ , Bren. You see it now? Ain’t any normal man I’ve met before bleeds black when he enters a house of God! We should leave him in here, put him out that way.”

Pastor Hux narrows his eyes. “No, Deputy. We’ll not be doing that.” 

Hux’ father pulls Kylo to his feet and practically flings him outside, where he crumbles into the hot dirt before the church. 

“We’ll not give it a death that easy, Deputy Mitaka.” Hux’ heart sinks as his father continues. “Who knows how far its devilry has reached. It could be the animals. Could be the townsfolk. Could even be more than just River Ranch it’s infected with its poison. We need to know. We’ll scourge it with irons until it talks, and after that it can hang from the Golden Oak until its body is dead and cannot sustain it.”

“No.” Snaps Hux, with more authority than he thought possible. 

There is no reason at all why his father and the Sheriff should listen to him. He’s nothing, really, his opinion means nothing. But he is here, they brought him here, and they’ll listen. He has to try, in any case. 

“We can’t do any of that, Sheriff. This is a town of law and order, isn’t it?”

“Not in this case!” Cries Mitaka. Hux ignores him. 

“Sheriff. We’d best be putting him in lockup for the night. He’ll be safe enough there. Look at him, he’s no threat. He can hardly move, let alone speak. If we want to try him for killing Palpatine, we have to do it the way we know to do it. In front of twelve men, honest and true.”

“Son, this is not a man, and a fair trial is not what this thing needs. It is a devil, a servant of Satan, and it needs to be put out.” 

Hux looks, entreating, at Sheriff Tarkin. There is no use appealing to his father’s better judgment, or to his mercy. Such a thing does not exist. But the Sheriff might see his way to agreeing. 

After a pause of quite twenty seconds, the Sheriff nods at Hux. Pastor Hux stiffens, and Mitaka whines in indignation. 

“The boy is right. We achieve nothing by acting rashly.”

Relief courses through Hux. It is not over yet. 

“Take Mr Walker to the cells, Deputy. You’ll be stationed there overnight to keep watch. If anything untoward should occur, you ring the bell at once, you understand?”

Mitaka is pale, but nods quickly at his Sheriff. “Sir. I’ll do just that. Thank you, sir.”

Kylo is led off. He does not meet Hux’ eye once, for which Hux is glad. The pit in his stomach is gone, and he feels weightless, completely unmoored. He is dizzy, a moment or two from vomiting, but he is resolute, now. He has chosen his path, and though it leaves him nauseous, he is steadfast. 

\-----------------------------------------------------------------------

It is close to midnight, and Hux is nearly packed. It has been difficult having to do so in the dark, but he doesn’t want his father to see the flicker of light from beneath his door, from his burning oil lamp. He fumbles for a last couple of glass bottles of water; they will need them. 

He stuffs the dollar bills he’d abstracted from his father’s drawers earlier that night into the front pocket of his satchel, together with a piece of notepaper, folded. He has packed light, undoubtedly, but it will be easier on Millie. 

He creeps downstairs as silently as he can. The last thing he takes is a heavy doorstop, cast in bronze, in the shape of a lion’s head. Pastor Hux had inherited this from his own father - one of the first items Hux’s grandparents had bought after emigrating. He slips it into his bag. 

Millie is led away by foot. Hux is worried her heavy, galloping footfalls might awaken his father. It takes them ten minutes to arrive at Main Street. 

Although he knows it is a risk, he approaches Phasma’s front door, slipping his note to her underneath. He is trying very, very hard not to stop and think about what he is doing, but whenever he does, his one regret is that he won’t have the chance to say goodbye to her in person. He wonders, fleetingly, if they will ever see each other again. It seems unlikely. 

He ties Millie up out at the front of the station loosely, patting her softly on the mane. 

He knocks once, and the station door swings open. Mitaka is at the desk, evidently trying to ward off the encroaching urge to sleep. 

“Bren! What are you doing here? It must be getting on for one in the morning.” 

Hux shrugs, trying to remain casual. “It seemed cruel to leave you here on your own all night. I couldn’t sleep, so I thought I might come by, see if you wanted any company.”

Mitaka nods, smiling gratefully. “Good of you. Mr Locke here ain’t by way of being much of a conversationalist.”

The drunkard, slumped in his own cell, grunts crabbily, barely raising his head. 

“And the - other prisoner?” Hux pointedly does not look at Kylo, who is cuffed to the bars in his own cell. 

“Well, he’s not given me any trouble, I will say that for him. Docile as a lamb. Knows what’s coming to him, I’d say, and perhaps he’s accepted it.” 

“Hm.” says Hux, extracting the door stop as quietly as he can manage and approaching Mitaka from behind. 

“So did you want a drink, or what, then? Sheriff’s got a good bottle of scotch still half-full back there, and I - ”

Hux grimaces as Mitaka slumps forward onto the desk, hitting his forehead as he goes. Hux is briefly seized with a panic that he has not knocked him out properly, but Mitaka is motionless. 

Hux puts the bronze lion down on the desk. He cannot carry it with him. Besides, it won’t make any difference what evidence he leaves. 

He touches his fingers to Mitaka’s pulse point as he hears Kylo start to stir. He feels a minute pang of guilt over the unconscious Deputy, his friend, until he remembers what Mitaka had done to Kylo earlier that day, the memory of Kylo’s screams of agony sufficient to dry up the last sprigs of Hux’s sympathy. 

He finds Mitaka’s keys in the desk drawer, unlocking Kylo’s cell and rushing to him, lifting Kylo’s bloodied face to look up at him. They hadn’t even had the decency to clean him. The indignity of it causes a fresh wave of anger to course through Hux, he tries to keep it in check as he fumbles with the keys, trying desperately to find the one that will unlock Kylo’s shackles. 

“Bren - Bren, what are you doing…” Kylo’s voice is a weak whisper. 

“Kylo, shush. You have to be quiet, and we have to move quickly. Mitaka could wake up any time.”

“You can’t - you can’t….”

“Kylo, stop it. No, stop. Please. I understand what you’re trying to say, but we don’t have time, we just don’t. If we don’t move right now, if someone hears us…” The thought is too horrifying for Hux to contemplate. 

He has to drag Kylo to his feet. The bullet wound in his leg is raw, red and starting to fester. If Hux doesn’t get Kylo at the very least to a place he can pull out the bullet and wash him, this might all be for nothing anyway. Nearly Kylo’s whole weight is slumping on Hux as he tries to carry Kylo out of the cell. 

He lays him next to the desk. Kylo is in bad shape, and Hux has to carry Mitaka’s unconscious body into the cell single-handed. He locks the cell behind him and dumps the keys back in the desk drawer. 

“Kylo.” he whispers, leaning down to pull Kylo to him. “Kylo,” he repeats desperately. “We need to go, now. Millie’s waiting outside for us.”

Kylo waits, staring at Hux in bewilderment for just a moment, then nods. 

They struggle out of the station. It is not easy to get Kylo on the back of Millie with one broken leg, but he manages it somehow. He straps his satchel to her saddle, and at last, they are away. 

Hux sheds a tear of exhausted joy and relief as Millie passes the Golden Oak, her hooves clattering softly in the dirt. He did it, they are gone. There is still a chance for them. The man behind him is clinging to his middle, his face buried in the back of Hux’s neck, and any misgivings he might have had about the decision he’s made ebb away as Kylo presses a light kiss to him.

He knows what he’s done. There’s no life for him in Louisiana anymore, and who knows how far they’ll have to go to escape his father’s wrath. He and Kylo might not last out the week. 

But he knows that, really, there’s no life for him at all without Kylo. Not anymore. 

\------------------------------------------------------

They ride for nearly twenty straight hours, only stopping for Millie to have rest and water breaks, before they stop. 

If Hux’s predictions are correct they’ve had at very best five or six hours headstart. Tarkin will have come down in the morning to relieve Mitaka of duty and even if Mitaka hadn’t survived, Locke would doubtless have told Tarkin the whole story. The two of them both missing, it wouldn’t take the Sheriff long to put two and two together in any case. 

It is nearly sundown on Wednesday, before they put in at a little saloon in a tiny frontier town in West Texas. 

Hux has used some of their water to try and clean Kylo off a little on the way, make him at least somewhat presentable. There is no disguising that he is badly injured, but he suspects they’re at the kind of place very few questions would be asked, anyway. 

Kylo has slept most of the way, and is a little more coherent than when Hux had found him. 

Hux splashes water on his face, takes a quick swig from the scotch bottle he’d swiped from the Sheriff’s office, and lies down beside Kylo. 

“You…” Kylo starts, careful, uncertain. “You came for me. I didn’t...I really didn’t think you’d come for me.”

His voice sounds as though he is seconds away from breaking down. 

Hux breathes slowly, slips his hand into Kylo’s where it lies beside him, and laces their fingers together. 

“Of course I came for you. You saved my life, I saved yours. Now we’re even.” Says Hux, calmly. 

Kylo squeezes his hand, shaking a little. 

“Besides which, I love you.” 

Kylo gives him a look. His big, sad brown eyes are wide and shining, his bottom lip trembling slightly. He pauses for quite a minute, as if deciding what to say. 

In the end, he settles for “I love you, too”, and draws Hux to him. 

In the morning, Hux will have to find a sympathetic doctor, he thinks. He is hopeful, and he has his father’s dollars still stashed. Maybe he can find someone out this way who’ll remove the bullet and won’t ask too many awkward questions. 

They’ll probably have to cut their hair and find some new clothes. Kylo’s a fugitive now, and by extension so is he. A thought rushes into his mind that he needs to find Kylo something to eat. He must be starving hungry by now. If Hux is careful, he might be able to sneak into the butcher’s shop before sun-up. At worst he can bleed himself a little. He’s parted with a lot more than a pint of blood for Kylo, and he’s happy to do this for him, too. 

Kylo’s snoozing lightly behind him, but despite not having slept for nearly forty hours, Hux’s body is alive and thrumming with the instinct to make plans for the days and weeks to come. His ingenuity and ability to forward-plan is the only skill he’s ever really had, and it’ll have to serve the two of them well, at least until Kylo is back to full strength. 

Between the two of them, all they’ve got is that, a stolen scotch bottle, and each other. That’ll have to be enough to be going on with. 

\---------------------------------------------------

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you so much for sticking with this bad boy to the end! I loved writing it, as madly silly and melodramatic as it is. 
> 
> Perhaps next time I should write Kylo and Hux in a setting I am actually intimately familiar with, but it's hard to think of anything interesting they could get up to in suburban East Anglia, UK. 
> 
> Come hang with me on [tumblr!](https://www.shesaysbriefthings.tumblr.com)
> 
> Title is from twenty-one pilots, "Hometown".


End file.
